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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28478205">Snapshots: Four New Beginnings</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Persiflage/pseuds/Persiflage'>Persiflage</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Holby City</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Actor Bernie Wolfe, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Artist Bernie Wolfe, Bernie Wolfe: World's Okay-est Lesbian, Canonical Character Death, F/F, First Kiss, Flirting, France (Country), Grief/Mourning, Jemma Redgrave in a waistcoat floors me okay?, Kissing, Minor Character Death, Musician Bernie Wolfe, Nudity, Rating is for chapters 3 and 4, Romance, Serena Campbell: Bisexual Extraordinaire, Writer Bernie Wolfe, vineyards</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 15:02:27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>12,960</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28478205</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Persiflage/pseuds/Persiflage</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>AU: Four alternate first meetings between Bernie Wolfe (who is always a member of the performing arts) and Serena Campbell (who is always involved in medicine).</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Edward Campbell/Serena Campbell, Serena Campbell/Bernie Wolfe</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>39</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>89</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. A Shipboard Romance</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/sevtacular/gifts">sevtacular</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I suppose part of the inspiration for this comes from <a href="https://pers-books.tumblr.com/post/637656695008542720/sheesh-my-bloody-bitch-muse-will-leap-on">this post</a> and part of it comes from an introductory meeting between the two protagonists in Ngaio Marsh's <i>Artists in Crime</i> which I'm in the process of finishing re-reading.</p>
<p>It'll have four chapters and it's not going to be very long. (Shut UP Bitch Muse! You do not get to cackle about that remark!) I'll add a rating once I know which one applies, but this first chapter is Gen.</p>
<p>Anyways, Happy New Year, Berena Fandom.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>After the ship departs from the dock at Suva, Serena slips away from the crowd of her fellow passengers and climbs the companion way up to the boat deck. At first she thinks there’s nobody up there as the passengers are all still collected on the main deck and she’s just found a spot to gaze back towards Fiji, enjoying the chance of solitude and peacefulness when a gruff voice breaks the silence behind her.</p>
<p>“Damn! Damn! Damn! Oh damn and <i>blast</i>!”</p>
<p>Serena turns, startled by the vehemence of this utterance and sees a figure sitting on the canvas cover of one of the boats. The figure, a woman she realises, seen in profile has a hawkish nose and short, messy blonde hair that falls in waves to frame her high cheekbones. She stands up and Serena sees she’s wearing a pair of grey linen trousers and a short grey smock top, both liberally paint splattered and in her right hand is a paintbrush. She’s tall and slender, with long fingers and legs that seem to go on forever, and Serena realises with a guilty start that she’s staring at the woman. In front of the woman is a small canvas holding a watercolour rendition of the scene on the wharf just moments before the ship left Suva: the unknown painter has captured the almost acid green of a pile of bananas that had been left on the wet brown planks; the vivid magenta of some coral, near which a group of young Fijian women had been sitting, singing in low languid tones; the dark brown body of a tall Fijian man with dyed hair the same shade as the coral and a white loincloth that had been startling against the deep brown of his skin; the moody purple haze of the distant hills beyond the wharf, their middle hung about with gloomy grey clouds, their jagged peaks lit by a distant glimmer of the sun.</p>
<p>The painting is astonishingly vivid and compelling, and Serena isn’t even aware that she’s been gazing her fill on it until the woman, an unlit cigarette between her lips, asks in that same gruff voice, “Seen enough?”</p>
<p>Serena manages not to leap right into the air at being addressed. “I could stare at it for hours, actually,” she admits.</p>
<p>The woman, who’s discarded her paintbrush and is rummaging in her pockets, gives her an appraising look, a slow sweep of her eyes up and down Serena’s form that makes her feel utterly naked. </p>
<p>“Could you now?” Then woman pulls a box of matches from her pocket and proceeds to light her cigarette, her eyes back on the painting.</p>
<p>“It was a very vivid scene,” Serena says, “and you’ve captured it marvellously.”</p>
<p>“Thank you,” answers the woman absently, not looking at Serena.</p>
<p>“Sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb you. Only –”</p>
<p>“Hmm?”</p>
<p>“Well, could I possibly buy that from you?”</p>
<p>That brings the woman’s attention back to Serena. “You want to buy this?” she repeats, sounding surprisingly disbelieving.</p>
<p>“Yes. Is that so hard to believe?”</p>
<p>The woman shoves her hands back into her pockets and shrugs one shoulder. “I haven’t been at this for very long,” she says, her voice gone even gruffer. “Took it up as – well, art therapy – after I, um, well, after I got injured in the line of duty.”</p>
<p>Serena swallows, then asks, “Are you okay?”</p>
<p>The woman nods. “Over the worst of my physical injuries. And, um, well, the mental health situation’s improving slowly. Painting helps.”</p>
<p>“Well, you must have a vast amount of natural talent, then,” Serena says. “Because that painting is extraordinarily good and I would very much like to buy it to hang on my wall and remind me of my trip.”</p>
<p>“O-Okay.” The woman pulls her hand from her pocket and holds it out, then retracts it immediately to scrub at it with a paint stained rag. Serena can’t help chuckling softly when it becomes clear the rag isn’t really helping. “Wolfe,” the woman says, eventually holding out her hand again. “Bernie Wolfe.”</p>
<p>“Serena Campbell,” she says, shaking the hand regardless of the remaining paint. “I was about to go and have some tea. Would you care to join me?”</p>
<p>“That’s extraordinarily nice of you,” Bernie says. “I need to put my stuff away and, um, change.”</p>
<p>“Okay. I’m in cabin 42. Come and knock when you’re ready.”</p>
<p>“Thank you.” </p>
<p>~ ~ ~ ~ ~</p>
<p>Half an hour later there’s a brisk rap on the door and Serena opens it to find Bernie is a woman transformed: gone are the paint stained clothes and in their place the other woman wears a pair of skinny black jeans with a white vest top that shows off her bare, well muscled arms and shoulders to perfection. Serena swallows, her mouth suddenly dry as she realises how very attractive Bernie Wolfe is. </p>
<p>“Come in,” she says, her voice embarrassingly husky. </p>
<p>“Thanks.” Bernie steps inside and Serena catches a light floral scent as the other woman passes her before she steps past and Serena closes the door.</p>
<p>“You scrub up nicely,” she teases, unable to stop herself from flirting.</p>
<p>Bernie’s cheeks pink up. “You’re looking pretty good yourself, Campbell,” she says, her voice still somewhat gruff.</p>
<p>Serena feels a little jolt of pleasure at being called ‘Campbell’, though she’s not sure why. “Take a pew,” she says, “and I’ll pour.”</p>
<p>“Thanks.”</p>
<p>Bernie takes a seat on the end of the padded bench that’s nearest to the porthole and Serena sits alongside her, then proceeds to pour them both a cup of tea, adding a dash of milk and one sugar as per Bernie’s preference. Then she holds out the plate of sandwiches. “Some are ham and cucumber, the others are cheese and tomato,” she tells the blonde. </p>
<p>Bernie reaches for one, then blushes again as her stomach gives a loud gurgle.</p>
<p>“Goodness!” Serena exclaims, amused. “When did you last eat?”</p>
<p>Bernie shrugs one shoulder, her mouth already full. She chews rapidly, then swallows. “I had a banana and some coffee for breakfast.”</p>
<p>“No wonder you’re so slender if that’s how you eat.”</p>
<p>Bernie chuckles nervously. “I tend to get involved in my painting and forget to eat if someone doesn’t remind me. I tended to be the same when I was working.”</p>
<p>“What did you do, if you don’t mind me asking?”</p>
<p>“I, um, I was a trauma surgeon with the RAMC. I, um, well, I sort of got a bit blown up last year. Rather lucky to be here, to be honest.”</p>
<p>“A bit blown up? If you’re lucky to be here you must’ve got more than ‘a bit blown up’,” Serena observes. “I’m a surgeon, too, so don’t have to worry about losing me in the details.”</p>
<p>“Oh, well, yes.” </p>
<p>As Bernie details the horrific extent of her injuries as a consequence of the vehicle she was in being hit by a roadside IED in Afghanistan, Serena realises that she might be well and truly lost where Bernie – Major Berenice Wolfe, to be exact – is concerned. She’s realising that she has a hopeless crush on this incredibly heroic, talented woman. Although, looking at the shy glances Bernie is casting her and seeing the way her cheeks pink up when Serena flirts with her, she suspects that her crush might even be reciprocated. She finds the prospect of a ship-board romance rather thrilling and she hopes it won’t stop there.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. If Music Be the Food of Love</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Serena McKinnie and her new fiancé Edward Campbell encounter one Bernie Wolfe, busking in Bath.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Alas, this chapter escaped from me (why, Bitch Muse, why?!), so the remaining two chapters won't appear today. Sorry!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Serena McKinnie is enjoying her day trip to Bath, even though the city is thronged with tourists foreign and domestic. It’s a gloriously sunny day in late May, her studies are going well, and the young man beside her, Edward Campbell, proposed to her three days ago. She and Edward are both medical students, although Edward’s aiming to be an anaesthetist while Serena’s got her sights firmly set on becoming a surgeon. She’s also planning on taking an MBA at Harvard next year, encouraged by her mother Adrienne, who expects her only daughter to excel at everything.</p><p>They are walking through Sydney Place when Serena hears an absolutely beautiful voice, pure and clear, singing a ballad that seems to catch and hold her attention almost before she’s aware that she’s heard it. She makes a beeline for the source of the song, someone sitting on a folding chair, playing a guitar and singing. It takes her a moment to register that the singer is a woman of about her own age with tousled blonde hair that makes her look like she’s just climbed out of bed (a mental image that make Serena’s mouth go dry and her cheeks flush). The woman’s wearing blue jeans, a skinny white top, and over it a grey hooded sweatshirt with a logo on it that Serena’s too far away to read.</p><p>
  <i> Baby, you're the best<br/>
I wasn't lookin' but somehow you found me<br/>
I tried to hide from your love light<br/>
But like heaven above me<br/>
The spy who loved me<br/>
Is keepin' all my secrets safe tonight<br/>
And nobody does it better<br/>
Though sometimes I wish someone could</i>
</p><p>Serena vaguely recognises the song that the woman’s singing; she thinks it was in a movie a few years ago. It doesn’t matter, though – the woman’s singing and playing is utterly compelling and she stands, spellbound, to watch the woman’s long fingers moving rhythmically across the guitar strings, entranced by her voice.</p><p>“C’mon, ‘Rena,” says Edward petulantly. “Let’s go. There’s no need to stand here watching some layabout bawl about love.”</p><p>Unfortunately for Edward the woman's just finished her song and he’s spoken loudly enough to be heard embarrassingly clearly. </p><p>“I’m not a layabout,” the blonde says in a stern tone.</p><p>Edward huffs. “No one asked you.”</p><p>“Excuse me?” The woman sets her guitar carefully in the open case in front of her, which Serena notices has been serving as her collecting ‘tin’ and contains a fair amount of money. This comes as no surprise to Serena as the woman is extraordinarily good. “You very rudely referred to me as a layabout in my hearing. Did you think I’d ignore that?”</p><p>Edward lets go of Serena’s hand and folds his arms across his chest. “I don’t care,” he says. “You look like a layabout.”</p><p>The woman stares at him and Serena doesn’t think she’s ever seen a more menacing stare, not even from the senior consultants at the Royal Free Hospital where she’s been working.</p><p>“And you look like a toffee nosed git who hasn’t done a day’s work in his life because he gets everything from Mummy and Daddy,” retorts the blonde. “Whereas I work part time while also studying full time, and in the tourist season I busk as well to pay my way through university.” She stalks the few steps between her spot and where Edward’s standing, glaring at him, then jabs him in the chest with one long finger. Serena’s moved slightly away from him, appalled at her fiancé’s rudeness, but also thrilled by the unknown blonde woman’s unwillingness to take Edward’s boorishness lying down. “You don’t get to look down your nose at other people just because you feel superior to them. You’ve no idea what a person’s background is, what their story is, so don’t go jumping to conclusions. It makes you look like an ignorant dick. Now piss off.” She shoves at his shoulder and Edward takes a step back, looking properly alarmed now.</p><p>“Come on, ‘Rena. There’s no need to remain here.”</p><p>The blonde woman gives Serena a sharp look, eyebrows raised, as if she can’t imagine why Serena would associate with someone like Edward. She can’t help blushing under the intense scrutiny, but she pulls out her purse and takes out a five pound note. </p><p>“I thought you were brilliant,” she says quietly, pushing the banknote into the young woman’s hand. “Sorry about him.”</p><p>“Don’t apologise for someone else’s rude behaviour,” the woman says immediately. “It’s his fault, not yours.” Then she turns away and goes back to her seat. She picks up her guitar, drops the fiver into the case, then settles the guitar strap over her shoulder and strums a few bars. </p><p>Serena would like to stay to listen some more, but first she needs to get after Edward.</p><p>~ ~ ~ ~ ~</p><p>Bernie Wolfe finishes her last song, then straightens up, stretching her back muscles from where she’s been bent over her guitar. “That’s it,” she says to the tourists around her. “Thanks for listening.” She slips the guitar strap over her head, then begins scooping the money in her case into a black cloth bag that she carries for the purpose. She doesn’t bother trying to count it, that would be foolhardy in the extreme.</p><p>“Can I help?” asks a vaguely familiar voice.</p><p>Bernie glances up, taking in the cute brunette with the dimple in her chin. It takes her a moment to recognise her as the young woman ‘Rena’ who’d given her five quid earlier after her boyfriend, no fiancé (she remembers seeing the engagement ring on the woman’s hand when she’d given Bernie that fiver), was so obnoxious to her.</p><p>“No thanks,” she answers. There’s no doubt in her mind that the young woman is gorgeous and ordinarily she’d love to spend time getting to know her better, but she’s no desire to spend time with a woman who’d associate with such an obnoxious, judgemental man.</p><p>“I – um – I came to ask you to have lunch with me,” ‘Rena says. She holds out her hand. “I’m Serena McKinnie.”</p><p>“Bernie Wolfe,” she replies, automatically taking the offered hand and shaking it, despite herself. She’s about to refuse the offer of lunch when Serena lifts her left hand to hold Bernie’s hand between both of her own, and she guesses it’s a deliberate move on the part of the brunette when she notices that Serena’s engagement ring is conspicuous by its absence.</p><p>“I – um – I’d like that,” she says, ducking her head a little so she can glance at Serena through her messy fringe. She suddenly feels quite shy after noticing Serena’s engagement ring is missing. “Thanks.”</p><p>“Great.” Serena grins widely at Bernie’s acceptance, then helps eagerly when Bernie invites her to assist her in gathering the last of the money from her guitar case. Once the bag’s safely stowed away in her rucksack, and the guitar is in its case, Bernie gives Serena a shy smile, then asks, “Where to?”</p><p>“Well, I don’t know Bath that well as I’m a student playing tourist for the day. Do you have any preferences?”</p><p>“There’s a really nice café about ten minutes walk away,” Bernie tells her. “Does a really good cup of coffee and their sandwiches and pastries are delicious.” She doesn’t tell Serena that their prices are relatively modest, considering Bath’s a tourist town and most places tend to hike their prices up during the tourist season.</p><p>“What are you studying?” she asks Serena as they make their way down Great Pulteney Street.</p><p>“I’m training to be a surgeon, actually,” Serena says. “Although I’m also planning on doing an MBA at Harvard.”</p><p>“Gosh,” Bernie says. “You must be very smart.”</p><p>“Let’s say that the only area in which I’m genuinely not very smart at all is romance.” Serena says. “And did I ever fail on that score.”</p><p>“Well,” Bernie begins. “It’s not really my place to say anything.”</p><p>Serena snorts inelegantly. “Trust me, I’ve realised now that he’s a big prick.”</p><p>Bernie can’t help giggling at that. “Was he? I’ll have take your word for it,” she says, with a comic leer that makes Serena giggle, too, until they find themselves roaring with laughter, or in Bernie’s case, honking, at least according to the brunette.</p><p>Eventually they manage to calm themselves down and resume walking. When they reach the café, Bernie opens the door for Serena, ushering her inside with a hand at the small of her back. She admits to herself that she feels very attracted to the other woman. In fact, she suspects that she’s developing a crush on one Serena McKinnie. Which is a bit of a problem, given that Serena’s clearly into men, and also is planning on heading to America for what Bernie knows is going to be a vigorous programme of study. Even if Serena’s interested in women, there’ll be no room in her life for Bernie Wolfe in the next few years. She sighs internally, then accepts that she and Serena can only be friends.</p><p>Serena asks Bernie what she wants, then suggests that she grab a table while Serena gets their food and coffee. Bernie nods agreement, then makes her way over to her favourite corner table and settles down with her guitar on her left, propped against the wall, and her rucksack on the chair beside her.</p><p>Serena returns just as Bernie’s beginning to feel properly hungry and sets a tray down that holds two plates with freshly made sandwiches on them, two more plates each carrying a pain au chocolat, and two big mugs of coffee. </p><p>“Thanks,” Bernie says, then holds out the correct money to pay Serena.</p><p>But the brunette waves her away. “No, lunch is on me.”</p><p>“I can pay my own way,” Bernie says in a quiet voice.</p><p>“I’m not saying you can’t,” Serena says firmly. “I just want to treat you.”</p><p>Bernie sighs, shakes her head, then puts her money away. “Anyone ever tell you that you’re a stubborn little thing, McKinnie?”</p><p>Serena does the inelegant snort thing again. “Many times,” she says, passing over a paper napkin. “I prefer to think of it as persistence.”</p><p>“Mmhmm.” Bernie smirks at her over her mug of coffee, then takes a deep swallow, barely suppressing a moan of pleasure as the flavour hits her taste buds and the caffeine hits her tiredness. “Thank you,” she says sincerely.</p><p>“You’re welcome.” Serena doesn’t suppress her own moan of pleasure nearly as thoroughly as Bernie and it hits her low in her belly. She closes her eyes and focuses on the taste of the bite of ham salad sandwich in her mouth so that she won’t stare at the brunette.</p><p>“So, tell me about the busking,” Serena says, before taking a bite of her own sandwich.</p><p>Bernie feels a little shy at first, as she always does when talking about her side-line as a musician, but Serena’s clearly very interested, and Bernie gradually relaxes, even becoming animated as she talks.</p><p>~ ~ ~ ~ ~</p><p>Serena McKinnie is sitting in one of the squares in Cambridge, Mass. enjoying the spring sunshine and the chance to take a day off from her studies when the song on a nearby radio comes to an end and she hears the radio presenter announce the next piece of music.</p><p>“And the next song is by the new and upcoming sensation, Bernie Wolfe.” Serena wonders if she’s fallen asleep in the sunshine and is dreaming when she hears the name of the woman with whom she fell in love three years ago. “The song is called <i>So Far Away</i>.”</p><p>Serena finds herself unintentionally holding her breath as Bernie’s voice, still beautiful and powerful, floats from the radio,</p><p>
  <i>So far away<br/>
Doesn't anybody stay in one place anymore?<br/>
It would be so fine to see your face at my door<br/>
Doesn't help to know<br/>
You're just time away</i>
</p><p>Serena heaves in a breath, feeling her eyes prick with tears, both at the beauty of Bernie’s singing and at the words. She listens intently to the rest of the song, and by the final section there are tears pouring down her face,</p><p>
  <i>Yeah, you're so far away<br/>
Traveling around sure gets me down and lonely<br/>
Nothing else to do but close my mind<br/>
I sure hope the road don't come to own me<br/>
There's so many dreams I've yet to find<br/>
But you're so far away<br/>
Doesn't anybody stay in one place anymore?<br/>
It would be so fine to see your face at my door<br/>
And it doesn't help to know<br/>
You're so far away<br/>
Yeah, you're so far away<br/>
Hey, you're so far away</i>
</p><p>She thinks of how lonely she’s been during the last two years. Oh, there have been the occasional dalliances with both men and women, but nothing serious. The truth is that her brief summer fling with Bernie totally ruined her for anyone else, and she knows very well that it’s entirely her own fault for not staying in touch as the blonde had suggested, but she’d been scared of the strength of her feelings for Bernie, and scared too about what people, especially her mother, would say if they knew she was dating a woman.</p><p>She gets to her feet and hurries across the grass to where the radio presenter is introducing the next track and breathlessly, apologetically, asks the student which station she’s been listening to. Then she hurries back to her apartment and calls the radio station to find out more about Bernie Wolfe. The incredibly helpful young man who answers her call tells her that <i>So Far Away</i> is the title track of Bernie Wolfe’s first album, that the single is already speeding up the chart, and that the woman in question will be in America next week to start her first US tour. She’ll be opening her tour at The Paradise Rock Club in Boston.</p><p>Feverishly, Serena thanks the young man profusely, then calls The Paradise Rock Club to see if they still have tickets left.</p><p>“You’ve gotten just about the last one,” a cheerful man tells her. “This babe’s going to rock this joint so hard.”</p><p>Serena’s not quite sure what that means, but doesn’t bother to ask, she’s just hugely relieved to know she’s secured a ticket. The man agrees that she can send a letter to Bernie care of the ‘Dise, as he calls it, but warns that there’s already a stack of fan mail awaiting the young woman at the club. Serena’s not terribly surprised to hear this, given Bernie’s talent, but she does experience a sinking feeling at the news. Will Bernie even want to hear from her after all this time, much less want to see her? She sighs and acknowledges that there’s really only one way to find out.</p><p>On the day of the concert, Serena frets endlessly, wholly unable to focus properly on anything, so of course the day drags by as it wouldn’t have done if she’d been able to concentrate on doing something. Eventually the hands on the clock drag themselves far enough around for her to get ready for the evening. She gets a cab to the club and twitches with nerves the whole drive since the first song she hears on the cabbie’s radio is <i>So Far Away</i>. The cabbie, a lovely young black man, waxes lyrical about Bernie’s singing and the song, and when Serena eventually arrives at the club she feels like she might faint.</p><p>She shows her ticket at the door and the tall blond man who’s checking tickets immediately directs her to wait to one side while a colleague of his comes to speak to her. Serena tries not to panic, baffled at why someone from the club would want to talk to her, but then a short, redhaired woman appears and hands her an envelope with her name and ticket number scrawled across the front. She frowns, but opens the envelope, and can’t help gasping in surprise when she sees it’s a short note from Bernie, asking her to come backstage once the concert is over, no matter how late it finishes up.</p><p>Serena tucks the letter into her bag, then follows everyone else into a large rectangular room which has a wide stage running down its length. The thrumming of nervous energy through her limbs is nothing to do with the prospect of seeing Bernie again; she tells herself this, but she knows she’s lying to herself. It occurs to her, rather belatedly, that Bernie might only want to see her to yell at her for ruining their relationship. She sighs. If that’s the case, then she’ll just have to accept being yelled at. She hopes it’s not that.</p><p>~ ~ ~ ~ ~</p><p>Several hours later, Serena’s ears are ringing, her body feels drenched in sweat, and yet she feels utterly exhilarated by the experience of seeing Bernie Wolfe perform live on stage in the company of several hundred other fans. She makes her way slowly from the room, then speaks to the same short, redhaired woman who’d given her the note from Bernie, showing it to this Fleur, who then takes her backstage to Bernie’s dressing room. A small part of her can’t help wishing she looked less like a woman who’s just spent several hours listening to a rock concert, then she recalls that Berenice Wolfe has just spent several hours performing in said rock concert, and she feels a tiny bit better.</p><p>Fleur knocks on a wooden door with a large gold star on it, opens it partially, and calls through, “Bernie? It’s your guest, Serena McKinnie.”</p><p>“Send her in,” calls back a rather hoarse voice, and Fleur gestures for Serena to go inside. </p><p>She takes a deep breath, mentally girds her loins, then steps into the dressing room. She’s greeted by the sight of Bernie Wolfe dressed in grey boxer shorts, a white sports bra, and nothing else. There’s a towel around her neck and she’s using one corner to mop at her face. When she sees Serena her entire face lights up in a brilliant smile and the next moment the brunette finds herself with her arms full of one blonde rock sensation. She feels like she’s come home.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>The song 'So Far Away' is, of course, a Carole King song, but I've attributed it to Bernie instead. 'Nobody Does it Better' is from the soundtrack to the James Bond movie 'The Spy Who Loved Me' and was sung by Carly Simon. Bernie is singing a cover version.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Serena's daughter, Elinor, is a member of the Wolfe Repertory Theatre Company, and Serena and Jason attend a performance of their latest play. The sexual chemistry between Bernie and Serena is undeniable.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Oh look! Another chapter with which the Bitch Muse absolutely ran away from me! *sighs*</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Mum, Jason, I’d like you to meet Ms Wolfe, founder of the Wolfe Repertory Theatre Company, and my mentor. Ms Wolfe, this is my mother, Serena Campbell, and my cousin, Jason Haynes.”</p><p>“Pleased to meet you both,” says the tall blonde, who’s currently taking Serena’s breath away as she shakes hands with them both. The blonde’s dressed in tailored black trousers, a white dress shirt of the sort that Serena’s only ever seen men wearing before (<i>she even has cufflinks, for goodness sake!</i>, Serena exclaims in the privacy of her thoughts), a black waistcoat, and a black bow tie, although she unfastens the latter and lets the ends hang down on either side of her neck before she unfastens the top two buttons of her shirt.</p><p>“Sorry,” she says, with an apologetic glance. “That thing was strangling me, rather.”</p><p>“Ms Wolfe, is Cousin Elinor's acting getting better? I think it is. I remember my Aunty Serena took me to see her in <i>Les Misérables</i> and she wasn’t very good. Actually, the whole production was quite poorly done. It was also very boring.”</p><p>“Jason!” exclaims Serena, rather mortified, even though she’s quite used to his direct manner and blunt way of speaking.</p><p>“It’s okay, mum,” Elinor says with a giggle. “He’s not wrong.” She looks at Jason, then at Ms Wolfe. “It was bum-numbingly boring, in fact.”</p><p>“Elinor!” exclaims Serena, even more mortified. But her embarrassment dies as Ms Wolfe lets out the most astonishing honking laugh, a deep belly laugh that has her clutching at the mantelpiece of the set on which she, Elinor, and the rest of the Wolfe Repertory Theatre Company have just been performing and are now standing to receive selected members of the audience. Serena can only stare in amazement at this woman, who only moments before had looked so elegant and sophisticated, now practically falling over in the extremis of her hilarity.</p><p>She joins in the laughter, then smiles at the other woman when she finally straightens up and wipes tears of mirth from her cheeks. Ms Wolfe smiles back, her eyes twinkling, and Serena can’t help the little <i>Uh-oh</i> in the back of her mind as she realises just how astonishingly attractive she finds Elinor’s mentor.</p><p>“To answer your question, Jason, yes, Elinor’s acting is getting better. Although I think it helps that today’s play is not the bum-numbingly boring <i>Les Misérables</i>, don’t you?” Ms Wolfe says, twinkling at Elinor, who rolls her eyes, but also blushes at the praise.</p><p>“It does,” agrees Jason solemnly. “I wasn’t sure if I’d like the play because it only has one man in it.” That earns Jason raised eyebrows from Ms Wolfe, but she doesn’t say anything immediately, and Jason continues, “But sometimes Mrs Walker reminded me of my mum even though you don’t look anything like my mum and then I forgot to think about most of the cast being women.”</p><p>“And did you enjoy the play?” Ms Wolfe asks.</p><p>“Yes, I did.”</p><p>“Good.” She smiles at him and he smiles back, then tugs at Elinor’s sleeve and asks if she will go with him to get a drink.</p><p>“Of course, Jason.” </p><p>They move across the stage and Ms Wolfe turns her attention to Serena. “And did you enjoy the play?” she asks.</p><p>Serena smirks. “Very much so. Although I enjoyed your performance as Mrs Walker for rather different reasons to Jason.”</p><p>“Oh?” Ms Wolfe’s twinkle is back in full force. “Why did you enjoy my performance?”</p><p>“For purely aesthetic reasons,” Serena says, smirking again, one eye raised at her. “You look extremely good in that outfit.”</p><p>To Serena’s surprise Ms Wolfe blushes pinkly. “Thank you.” She chuckles, nervously, Serena thinks, then adds, “You look pretty good in that dress, too.”</p><p>She glances down at the burgundy red dress which shows off her décolletage very nicely. It’s floor length and has a slit up the side so that she can walk, and quite a low back, too. “Thank you,” Serena says, preening a bit. “Shall we get a drink?”</p><p>“Don’t mind if I do,” Ms Wolfe says, crooking her elbow towards Serena, who can feel herself blushing for some reason. She slips her hand inside Ms Wolfe’s elbow and they move across the stage to where the refreshments are set out. Serena soon finds herself holding a glass of Shiraz, which makes her wonder if Elinor’s mentioned her mother’s wine preferences. Ms Wolfe has acquired a tumbler of whisky, from which she sips sparingly, and Serena suddenly wonders what the blonde would be like if she got tipsy.</p><p>They mingle with the other members of the cast and their invited guests, nibbling on buffet food, and Serena is delighted to hear Elinor coming in for quite a lot of praise from both members of the cast and of the audience. She’s extremely proud of how hard her daughter’s worked since she decided she wanted to become a professional actor, and she’s incredibly grateful that Ms Wolfe gave Elinor a job. She knows, from what Elinor’s said, that repertory theatre companies are no longer as common as when Ms Wolfe became an actor at Elinor’s age, and she really appreciates the fact that the Wolfe Repertory Theatre Company has its base in Holby. Elinor’s got her own little flat near the theatre, but she does come home to Serena’s for dinner at least once a week, usually arriving on a Saturday night after the evening performance is over, and staying for breakfast and Sunday lunch with Serena and Jason.</p><p>“What about you, Ms Campbell?” asks Ms Wolfe. “Did you never have any desire to tread the boards?”</p><p>“Call me Serena,” she says with a chuckle, then shakes her head. “I never really had the time as I was too busy studying medicine to become a surgeon. I also did a Harvard MBA and worked my way up to Deputy CEO at Holby City General Hospital, where I’m also the Clinical Lead on AAU.”</p><p>“You must call me Bernie,” she says, then adds, “I feel properly lazy and lacking in industry now.”</p><p>“Nonsense,” Serena says quickly. “I know from my Elinor just how much hard work goes into becoming a successful actor. And running your own Repertory Theatre Company means you’re no slouch when it comes to brains.” </p><p>“Well, I do have some assistance in running the Company,” Bernie says. “I don’t have an MBA, from Harvard or anywhere else, so I have a business partner to look after that side of things. Which leaves me to worry about which plays to stage and where the tours will be going.”</p><p>“Don’t you feel the urge to settle down somewhere?” Serena asks curiously.</p><p>“I haven’t so far,” Bernie says. “Though I’ll admit that my back grows a little weary of uncomfortable mattresses in strange digs.”</p><p>“Didn’t Elinor tell me that you had quite a bad accident a few years ago?” Serena asks. “You took a tour overseas?”</p><p>“We did. We visited Camp Bastion and a few of the other British Army bases in Afghanistan and Iraq. It was a joint enterprise with the MOD and the British Council. We were being driven between two of the bases and there was a roadside IED. Unfortunately, I was in the lead vehicle and my driver didn’t spot the IED until it was almost too late. He swerved but it exploded anyway, and our vehicle rolled across the road to end up upside down in a poppy field. I was left with an unstable C5/C6 fracture, a traumatised cervical disc in the same area, a pseudoaneurysm of the right ventricle, and some shrapnel in my left leg. I was forced to leave the Company in the hands of my business partner, Alex, while I recovered from the multiple surgeries that were needed to fix me up.” Bernie gives Serena a sickly smile. “Things weren’t helped by the fact that my heart stopped on the table. I’m extremely lucky to be here, but I swore off any further tours in the Middle East. And our tours in Britain are not as expansive as before.”</p><p>“Do you still experience any side effects from your injuries?” Serena asks. She’s been wincing internally while Bernie described her injuries, knowing that the surgeries needed to repair her body could just as easily have left her paralysed or dead.  </p><p>“These old bones don’t bear the cold and damp very easily,” Bernie says, “and as I mentioned before, my back doesn’t take kindly to uncomfortable mattresses. That’s why our tours run late Spring to late Summer. Of course, that doesn’t mean we can’t get cold, wet weather at those times, too, but as a general rule it’s not as cold as in the winter months.” She chuckles. “The last couple of years I’ve threatened to hibernate during the Winter months, but Alex tells me I’m not allowed.”</p><p>“This Alex sounds a little mean,” Serena observes. “I think hibernating during the coldest weather sounds very sensible. Just huddling under a heap of blankets, read books by candlelight and firelight, with plenty of tea, soup, and wine to warm you up, and maybe another warm body to cuddle.” She winks and Bernie blushes again.</p><p>“Alas, I don’t have another warm body to cuddle, not even a cat. Alex tells me that I’m letting her down by not conforming to the lesbian cat lady stereotype. But I think it’d be unfair to get a cat when I spend three or four months of the year away from home.”</p><p>“You have a good point,” Serena says, hoping that she’s concealed the leap of hope she felt when Bernie mentioned she doesn’t have another warm body to cuddle. Then she wonders if it would be unethical of her to date her daughter’s mentor. </p><p>“I was wondering if you’d like to come and have supper with me one evening next week?” Bernie asks, her voice low and warm. She brushes the back of her hand against Serena’s, who doesn’t quite dare to grab that hand and tangle their fingers together.</p><p>“I’d like that,” Serena says, equally warmly and quietly.</p><p>“Which evening would suit you?”</p><p>“Well, Jason’s away on Thursday and Friday night, and I have Friday off work.”</p><p>“It sounds like Thursday would be a good choice, then,” Bernie says, the twinkle in her eyes even more pronounced. “I’ll make sure there’s a good supply of Shiraz on hand, and maybe you’d like to stay over? I do have a guest room available.”</p><p>“I’d like that very much indeed,” Serena confirms, then feels a quiver of excitement in her belly when Bernie leans in and brushes her lips against her cheek. </p><p>“Give me your phone number and I’ll text you my address,” Bernie says, holding out her phone.</p><p>“Of course.” Serena types it in, then sends herself a text to confirm she’s remembered her number correctly. She saves Bernie’s number once she has her own phone in her hands.</p><p>“I’ll see you on Thursday, then,” Bernie says. “Seven o’clock. I must go and talk to a couple more people before I can head home.”</p><p>“I shall look forward to it immensely,” Serena promises, then dares to brush her own lips against Bernie’s cheek.</p><p>~ ~ ~ ~ ~</p><p>Having established that Bernie didn’t expect her to dress up in anything too smart, Serena wears a less formal dress to have supper at Bernie’s. The fact that the slate  grey silk sheath dress is easy to remove is neither here nor there, she decides as she slides it on over her matching black silk bra and knickers. She’s wearing stockings and a pair of red kitten heels, and her outfit is completed by a matching red chiffon shawl that she drapes over her shoulders. She checks she has her phone, house keys, and purse in her handbag, then goes downstairs to collect the bouquet of flowers from the kitchen before making her way out to the car.</p><p>The drive to Bernie’s house, which is on the opposite side of Holby to Serena’s own leafy detached, takes about twenty minutes, and it’s twenty minutes of butterflies rioting in her belly. She can’t recall the last time she felt this nervous on a first date, possibly when she was in her teens or early twenties. There’s an overnight bag on the backseat of her car, and Serena’s packed her slinkiest, sexiest nightgown, which she’ll confess (in the privacy of her own head but to no one else) she’s really hoping Bernie will take off her. She thinks that’s where this is going, although she’s not one hundred percent certain. She thinks that the sexual chemistry between herself and Bernie the other evening was undeniable, and she very much hopes that the blonde will be as eager to act on it as Serena, but she acknowledges that Bernie might feel it’s too soon.</p><p>She pulls up on the drive behind Bernie’s little sportscar, smirking at the sight of it, then climbs out of the car and grabs her handbag and the bouquet of flowers from the passenger seat, before retrieving her overnight bag from the backseat. She slips the strap of her handbag over her shoulder, leaving her hands free for the bag and flowers, then makes her way up the remainder of the drive. The front door opens just before she reaches it and Serena’s eyes go wide at the sight of the blonde. Bernie is wearing a pair of skinny black jeans, an ivory shirt, and a deep red blazer. The neck of her shirt is open, displaying exquisite collarbones and the hollow of her throat, and Serena feels a sort of primal urge to lean in and nibble along those collarbones.</p><p>She manages to unfreeze her vocal cords and holds out the bouquet. “These are for you,” she says, her voice unintentionally husky.</p><p>“Thank you. Come in.”</p><p>Bernie steps back to allow Serena to step into the house, then closes the door behind her. “You look gorgeous,” she says, and Serena wonders if she’s imagining the thrum of longing in the blonde’s voice.</p><p>“Thank you. You’re looking pretty amazing yourself.”</p><p>Bernie gives her an unexpectedly shy smile, then says, “Why don’t you leave your overnight bag there and we can take it upstairs later. Come through.”</p><p>Serena obediently sets her bag down under the row of coat hooks in the hallway, then follows Bernie down the hall and into a lovely airy room that is both a sitting room and a dining room, the adjoining wall having been knocked through at some stage. The sitting room contains two extremely comfortable looking sofas, an armchair alongside the fireplace, and a number of bookcases stuffed with books. There’s a large screen television on the wall and below it a smaller bookcase stuffed with DVDs. The curtains are floor length mossy green velvet and they frame the bay window that looks out over the front garden. The dining room half contains a solid oak table that can apparently seat eight people, although Serena notes that only two places have been set, one at the head of the table, and one around the corner from it. There’s a snowy white linen tablecloth on the table, with a group of candles towards the far end opposite the place settings, while the middle of the table holds a bunch of vibrant yellow tulips and deep blue hyacinths.</p><p>“Your home looks lovely, Bernie.”</p><p>“Thank you,” Bernie gives her a warm smile, then says, “I have to put the finishing touches to dinner. Would you like a glass of wine while you’re waiting?”</p><p>“Yes please.”</p><p>“Okay. Why don’t you have a seat in the sitting room, and I’ll pour one for you.”</p><p>“Thank you.”</p><p>Serena takes a seat on the left hand sofa and finds herself deciphering the titles on the DVDs. The top shelf seems to contain recordings of any number of plays, both Shakespearean and otherwise, while the lower shelf seems to hold a number of romcoms and animated films.</p><p>“Here you are.” Bernie returns carrying a full glass of red wine, which Serena discovers is the promised Shiraz. Their fingers brush as she accepts the glass from the blonde and Serena could swear Bernie’s eyes darken at the touch. The thrum of desire that Serena has been feeling all evening intensifies.</p><p>“I’ll only be a few minutes,” Bernie promises, then disappears back out of the door. Serena is half tempted to go after her, to press the blonde up against the counter or a cupboard, or even press her down onto the table, and kiss her senseless, but she reins in her thoughts and focuses on savouring the wine, instead.</p><p>Dinner proves to be grilled lamb steaks with broccoli, asparagus, and golden roast potatoes, followed by custard tartlets topped with a mixture of berries dusted with icing sugar. Conversation flows easily between them, as if they’ve been friends for years, rather than having met less than a week ago, and Serena’s incredibly pleased that Bernie flirts as shamelessly as herself. </p><p>After they finish eating, Bernie directs Serena to take a seat on the sofa with the rest of her glass of wine while she clears the table and loads up the dishwasher, then she joins Serena, sitting unnecessarily close to the brunette, a sparkling smile and twinkling eyes indicating that this is deliberate provocation on the part of the blonde. </p><p>Serena is thoroughly unsurprised when Bernie leans in as soon as she’s finished drinking her wine, removes the glass from her hand, then leans in even further until their lips are mere millimetres apart.</p><p>“May I kiss you, Serena?” she asks, her voice low and husky.</p><p>“I’ve been waiting for you to do that all evening,” the brunette tells her.</p><p>A devastating smirk is Bernie’s only response before she closes the small gap between their mouths and kisses her. Serena can’t help moaning and Bernie doesn’t hesitate to take advantage, slipping her tongue into her mouth and kissing her more deeply.</p><p>Bernie’s left arm wraps across Serena’s upper back, while her right hand cradles the back of her head and neck; meanwhile Serena is relishing sinking her hands into Bernie’s gloriously silky soft hair, something she’d wanted to do the other evening, while kissing back just as enthusiastically.</p><p>Eventually they break apart, Bernie leaning her forehead against Serena’s as they both gasp for breath.</p><p>“Part of me wants to go slow,” Bernie whispers. “But another part of me wants to throw caution to the wind and carry you upstairs to my bed. Which do you want, Serena?”</p><p>“Let’s throw caution to the wind,” Serena murmurs, then gasps when Bernie moves away, stands up, then draws her up from the sofa. She yelps in shock when the blonde actually does pick Serena up in her arms and carry her into the hallway, then upstairs into a warm, cosy bedroom dominated by an exceptionally large bed. Serena completely fails to register what other furniture and furnishings are also in the room, because Bernie sets her down on her feet beside the bed, checks again that she wants this, then proceeds to strip Serena bare, pressing light kisses to her body as each item of clothing is removed, then easing her down onto the bed.</p><p>She strips out of her own clothes in a thoroughly unselfconscious manner, then crawls up the bed towards Serena and settles the weight of her body over the brunette’s.</p><p>“Okay?” she asks.</p><p>“I’m more than okay,” Serena tells her. “Please don’t make me wait any longer.”</p><p>“It’s okay, love, I’ve got you,” Bernie says, then sets out to prove just how dextrous her long fingers are, and how clever her mouth is. Serena feels very cared for and very blissed out.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. A jug of wine, a loaf of bread - and Thou beside me</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Bernie Wolfe is a travel writer, making an extensive tour of French vineyards for a magazine article. Her meeting with Serena Campbell, who's grieving the loss of her daughter, has the potential to change both their lives.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Another chapter that escaped me! (And was also thwarted by RL bullshit!) I hope you enjoy it, and thanks to everyone who's read and commented on it.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Travel writer Bernie Wolfe lies in the verdant grass at the side of the road, enjoying a post-prandial snooze. She’s made good enough time in her little sports car travelling from Provence that she reckons she’s earned a nice doze after her lunch in the baking hot French sunshine. She’s en route to Lyons to visit a couple of the Côte du Rhône wineries as part of an extended piece she’s writing for a magazine on the public tours available in France’s various wine regions. This is quite the booziest trip she’s ever made. She started out from Paris four weeks ago, and so far she’s visited the Loire Valley, Bordeaux country, Sud Ouest, Languedoc-Roussillon, and Provence. She particularly enjoyed Provence, where she got to take a hot air balloon ride over the lavender fields and to sunbathe aboard a boat in the rocky inlets of Cassis, and she’s looking forward to visiting Alsace, somewhere she knew intimately some two decades ago, and whose white wines are a particular favourite of hers.</p><p>She takes no notice of the sounds of cars passing on the road, knowing that her own car is quite safe from any would be thieves, nor does she register the sound of a car stopping near to her own, nor see the brunette in linen trousers, a short sleeved shirt, and an enormous sunhat who climbs from the car behind her own and scrambles across the grass towards her. In fact, it’s only when a hand clasps her wrist that Bernie Wolfe registers she’s no longer alone. She sits bolt upright, startling the brunette into jerking backwards so hard that she topples over into the grass, her sunhat flying off with the suddenness of her motion.</p><p>“Pardonnez-moi, madame. Je ne voulais pas vous effrayer.” She hastens to apologise to the other woman, explaining that she hadn’t intended to startle her, as she springs up and offers her hand to help her up from the grass. </p><p>“Your French is excellent,” the woman informs her. “But I’m English.”</p><p>“And how did you know I’m not French?” Bernie asks curiously as she easily lifts the woman up, then moves to pick up her discarded sunhat.</p><p>“Well, assuming that’s your sports car that I’m parked behind, it has an English licence plate.”</p><p>Bernie chuckles. “Fair enough.” She hands over the sunhat, then holds out a hand again. “Bernie Wolfe.”</p><p>“Serena Campbell.” They shake hands, the clasp of their hands lingering unnaturally long, although neither notices this fact as they’re too busy drinking in the other’s appearance. </p><p>Bernie is dressed in her usual travelling attire for Europe in the summer: a ribbed white vest top and a pair of blue cargo shorts, sturdy sandals on her feet, and sunglasses and a light cotton baseball cap.</p><p>“Bernie Wolfe,” says Serena Campbell.</p><p>“Yes, that’s me,” Bernie says brightly, with a suave smile. She’s not sure why, but she has a feeling that this Serena Campbell will be quite amenable to a bit of harmless flirtation.</p><p>“Yes, you said. I’m trying to – oh! You’re the travel writer.”</p><p>Bernie chuckles. “I am, indeed. Currently doing my booziest trip yet, checking out tours of wineries up and down France.”</p><p>Serena smirks. “I’m currently living at a vineyard, about five kilometres from here. Would you like to see it?”</p><p>“Sure,” Bernie says easily, quite certain that she’s being flirted with, too.</p><p>“Excellent.” They make their way to their cars and Serena asks, “Ready to follow my lead?”</p><p>“I believe I’d follow you anywhere you cared to lead me,” Bernie says, aware that this is a bit cheesy, but actually meaning it sincerely though they’ve only just met.</p><p>Serena smirks at her and Bernie feels herself blushing when the other woman’s gaze rakes her up and down. “Good to know.” She climbs into her car, reverses up a bit, then manoeuvres around Bernie’s car as Bernie gets into her own car and starts it up.</p><p>It doesn’t take them long to drive to the vineyard where Serena’s staying, and Bernie soon finds herself being greeted almost as if she’s an old friend of the family by the family who own the vineyard. She explains courteously that she’s a travel writer doing a piece on vineyard tours for an English magazine and their hostess immediately apologises that they are not set up for such tours. </p><p>Bernie quickly reassures her that she understands and that she wasn’t expecting a tour. “Je comprends très bien, madame. Je ne m'attendais pas à ce que vous me fassiez visiter.” </p><p>Then Serena chips in, explaining that when she saw Bernie lying in the grass she thought she was sick. “Je l'ai vue allongée dans l'herbe et j'ai pensé qu'elle était malade.” Then she adds as an aside to Bernie, in English, “I’m a doctor. Well, a surgeon.”</p><p>
  <i>Well, that explains the short nails. Although, given how she was flirting with you, maybe don’t rule out other possibilities just yet, Wolfe.</i>
</p><p>“Where are you based?” asks Bernie interestedly as their hostess waves them off so that Serena can take the groceries that she was on the way back from purchasing to the cottage she’s renting from them.</p><p>“Holby City.”</p><p>“Oh, how funny. I grew up there. Then I went to Oxford to take my degree and a few years after I graduated I moved to London.” She chuckles. “I could make my base anywhere, to be honest, given how much of my time’s spent overseas working, but I’ve never bothered to move out of London.”</p><p>“I’ve spent most of my life in Holby,” Serena says; Bernie notices the way her breath hitches slightly and the way her hand lifts to fiddle with the pendant around her neck, sliding it back and forth along the chain. She longs to reach out and touch Serena, to try to comfort her since it’s obvious to Bernie that something’s troubling her, but she’s not sure if the brunette would find her touch intrusive, so she keeps her hands at her sides as Serena leads her into the cottage.</p><p>“Anyway, this is me, currently.”</p><p>“Very cosy,” Bernie says, taking in the open plan nature of the ground floor, with its sitting room area in one half of the large space and the kitchen in the other half. There are stairs in the corner leading up to a mezzanine floor where Bernie can just make out a neatly made bed and what looks like a wardrobe up there.</p><p>“I’ll just put away my groceries, then I’ll take you on the private tour of the vineyard.”</p><p>“Take your time,” Bernie says. “I’m in no immediate rush.” She leans against the back of the sofa and watches as Serena moves about the kitchen area, putting chilled items into the fridge, frozen ones into the freezer, and other items into the store cupboard. </p><p>“Perhaps you’d like to stay and have dinner with me?” Serena asks once the last item’s stowed away.</p><p>“I’d be delighted,” Bernie says promptly, pleased to be asked, and even more pleased that Serena wants her to stay longer. </p><p>They make their way outdoors, Bernie letting Serena lead the way as she walks half a pace behind the brunette’s shoulder. Serena becomes animated as she talks of the grape harvest to come, but on occasion her animation falters and she looks weary and even, Bernie thinks, a little lost. She doesn’t ask any questions, though she’s longing to know what’s made Serena so fundamentally unhappy. But as they walk, she allows her arm, her shoulder, or her hand to brush deliberately against Serena’s, wanting to give her some form of human contact, but not wanting to make a big thing of it.</p><p>Eventually they make their way back to the cottage, Bernie recounting a little of her life story. </p><p>“The end of my tour’s going to be up in the Alsace region,” she tells Serena. “It’ll be a little like coming home for me as I spent a couple of years there about two decades ago. I love the wines of that region best of all.”</p><p>“You’re a white wine fan?” Serena says, pretending to be scandalised. “When there’s perfectly good Shiraz to be had?”</p><p>Bernie chuckles. “Each to their own, Serena. Each to their own.”</p><p>Serena chuckles too, and Bernie feels a small sense of elation that she has caused amusement to the brunette. They enter the cottage, removing their shoes, hats, and sunglasses, then take it in turns to use the ensuite bathroom, and Bernie does her level best not to pry as she crosses Serena’s room to make use of the facilities.</p><p>Then they reconvene in the kitchen and Bernie assists Serena in preparing dinner. They talk more easily as they work to make a beef ragout for dinner, and in due course Serena divulges the reason that she’s so sad: her daughter, Elinor, died in January after being in a car crash while she was high. Bernie is horrified, and quickly washes her hands, then draws Serena into her arms when the brunette begins to sob uncontrollably. She murmurs words of reassurance, repeatedly telling Serena to ‘let it all out’ and that she’s got her.</p><p>Eventually her sobbing subsides, and Bernie passes her the box of tissues sitting on the counter, then makes her a cup of camomile tea at Serena’s request. They sit at the table, Serena’s left hand in Bernie’s right as she sips her tea. </p><p>“I’m so sorry for your loss, Serena,” she says, giving her hand a gentle squeeze.</p><p>Serena nods, swallows audibly, then haltingly explains that her grief and rage made her into ‘an utter bitch’ who began bullying her staff and drinking in her office at all hours of the day. “Eventually the CEO, Hanssen, told me to take some time off to recover my equilibrium.”</p><p>“And you ended up here?” Bernie asks.</p><p>The brunette gives her a tremulous smile. “I did. I’ve been here before, for the same kinds of tourist trips that you’re writing about, but I decided to settle down here for a while. I’ve been here since early February.”</p><p>After a bit they return to their preparations for dinner, and Bernie doesn’t try to rein in her desire to touch Serena this time. She rubs a hand over her shoulder or down her forearm, presses a hand to the small of her back, clasps her hand and gives it a quick squeeze. Normally Bernie’s not the most tactile of people, having grown up in a household where hugs were exceedingly rare after the age of about six; her father was in the RAF and was a strict disciplinarian as well an emotionally distant man, so that Bernie grew up more used to being spanked than hugged. She’s taught herself to be somewhat tactile with people she cares about (girlfriends), but until she met Serena it’s never felt natural or easy. The brunette, however, is a special case and she feels no concern about what almost amounts to a compulsion to convey comfort and concern by touching Serena. </p><p>After dinner, which is every bit as delicious as Bernie anticipated, they sit on a bench against the back wall of the cottage with a view over the vineyard; they’ve each got a glass of wine (Shiraz, because they are in Syrah country after all, and Bernie’s not a total Philistine) and the bottle is resting to Serena’s left as they sit on the bench barely inches between their bodies. At Serena’s request, Bernie talks more about her work, recounting some of her more interesting trips, and some of her funniest anecdotes.</p><p>“Tell me about your time in the Alsace region, please,” Serena requests.</p><p>“I lived in Strasbourg for two years in my early thirties. This was before I became a travel writer. I was working at the European Parliament which had just opened up in Strasbourg in 1999.” Bernie frowns. “Did I mention I majored in Modern Languages at Oxford?”</p><p>“No, you hadn’t said. How many languages do you speak?”</p><p>“Oh, um.” Bernie starts counting on her fingers. “Besides English and French, German, Italian, Portuguese, Modern Greek. Since Oxford, I’ve picked up Swedish, Mandarin, Polish, Arabic, and Croatian. And I’ve begun learning Russian.”</p><p>“That’s a dozen different languages,” Serena says, looking awed.</p><p>Bernie nods. “My late father was in the RAF and was stationed, at various points, in France, Germany and Italy, so I began learning those languages as a child and was fully multilingual by the time I was in my early teens. I have a quite ridiculous natural facility at language learning.”</p><p>“I’m a little jealous,” Serena says, but she smiles to show she’s not wholly serious.</p><p>Bernie shrugs. “I daresay there are things you’re excellent at that I’m rubbish at.”</p><p>“You’re probably right. Anyway, you said you lived in Strasbourg.” </p><p>“I did.” She smiles softly. “It’s an incredible city, more German than French, having originally been part of the German-speaking part of central Europe. It’s been passed between France and Germany several times over the last two centuries and though it’s now part of France, it’s still very Germanic in culture and heritage. A large proportion of the population of all ages speak or understand Alsacian, which is a dialectal form of German.” Bernie pauses to drink some more of her wine, then adds, “Stop me if I’m boring you or you already know this.”</p><p>“You’re not and I don’t,” Serena says.  </p><p>“Okay.” Bernie continues talking of Alsace, and more particularly, of Strasbourg, telling the brunette about her work for the European Parliament, and eventually reducing Serena to tears of laughter with accounts of some of the truly ridiculous linguistic mishaps of certain British visitors to the city.</p><p>“I should get going,” Bernie says regretfully, checking the time on her watch.</p><p>“I don’t think you should be driving, given the amount of wine you – well we – have drunk this evening, do you?” Serena asks. “The sofa in the sitting room is a sofa bed, so why don’t you bunk down there?”</p><p>Bernie covers her mouth with her hand to try to stifle a huge yawn. “You’re probably right,” she agrees. She gets to her feet, then offers Serena a hand, tugging her up a bit too vigorously so that she stumbles against Bernie. “You know, if you want a cuddle, you only have to ask,” she teases, her voice unintentionally gone low and husky.</p><p>“Do I?” Serena asks.</p><p>“You do,” Bernie agrees. She wraps her arms around the other woman and holds her firmly in her embrace, her cheek against the side of Serena’s head. She reins in the urge to kiss the brunette, however chastely. It’s not that she doesn’t think Serena wouldn’t be interested, it’s simply that she’s not sure the other woman is ready for that kind of intimacy yet.</p><p>Eventually Serena stirs in her arms and Bernie loosens her grip, thinking that she wants to head indoors, but instead, Serena cups her cheek in one hand, then leans in and kisses Bernie. She automatically kisses the other woman back, then Serena slides her hand into Bernie’s hair and gives it a little tug, eliciting an involuntary moan of pleasure from the blonde. Which serves to bring her back to her senses, so she eases herself back from Serena.</p><p>“Oh god! Oh my god! I’m so sorry!” the brunette gasps, clearly horrified at kissing Bernie, and starting to move away.</p><p>“Shh, shh,” Bernie says immediately, pressing a finger against Serena’s lips, but keeping her other arm firmly around the brunette’s body. “Listen, you have absolutely nothing to apologise for because I very much wanted to kiss you, too. But you’ve had a lot to drink, Serena, and so have I, and I’d rather like to be sure this isn’t just the wine talking. Okay?” She drops her hand to wrap her arm back around the other woman. “This is very much not a rejection,” she says in the brunette’s ear. “If we were both sober, I’d take you to bed and ravish you. Okay?”</p><p>Serena eases back and looks her in the eyes and Bernie hopes she can read the sincerity in them. “Okay.”</p><p>“Good.”</p><p>“We’d better go to bed.”</p><p>“We better had.” </p><p>They step back into the cottage and between them unfold the sofa into a bed, then Serena offers Bernie first use of the bathroom while she makes up the bed.</p><p>“Mind if I take a shower?” </p><p>“Of course not,” Serena says.</p><p>“Thanks. I’ll just grab my stuff from my car.”</p><p>Bernie nips out to her car and grabs the khaki kitbag that she prefers to use rather than a regular suitcase, and Serena chuckles at the sight of it.</p><p>“Very soldierly of you,” she teases.</p><p>Bernie can’t help snorting at this remark. “My ex-girlfriend, of four years ago, used to tease me by calling me ‘Major Wolfe’, or just ‘the Major’, because of this bag.” She sets it down on the floor, then pulls out her washbag and the t-shirt and sleep shorts she favours in summer. </p><p>“Come on upstairs,” Serena says, “and I’ll give you some towels.” </p><p>“Thanks.”</p><p>Twenty minutes later, Bernie’s showered and dressed, and she heads back downstairs to find Serena pottering about in the kitchen.</p><p>“Bathroom’s all yours,” Bernie tells her, and Serena almost leaps into the air in surprise.</p><p>“Could you wear louder shoes, please?” she demands.</p><p>Bernie chuckles softly. “Sorry, love,” she says, not noticing the endearment that slips out. She lifts a foot and shows that she’s wearing a pair of slip on canvas shoes. “I tend not to clomp, though I promise that I’ll try to remember to do so next time.”</p><p>“Thank you.” Serena moves towards the stairs, then pauses within arm’s reach of where Bernie’s standing. “I should probably warn you that I sometimes have, um, well nightmares. But I’ll do my best not to disturb you.”</p><p>“That’s okay,” Bernie says softly, reaching out to clasp and squeeze her hand. “You don’t have to worry about that.” She presses her lips to Serena’s brow. “I hope you sleep very well tonight.”</p><p>“Thank you.” Serena squeezes her hand in return. “Goodnight, Bernie.”</p><p>“Goodnight, love.”</p><p>Serena’s smile is a bit tremulous as she slips her hand free of Bernie’s, making the blonde wonder if she’s unused to people being kind to her. She turns around as Serena makes her way upstairs, not wanting to get caught watching her, and unplugs her phone from where it’s been re-charging. She turns out the light, then stretches out on the sofa bed with the light of a repositioned desk lamp to help her as she checks her emails. She does have a laptop in the bottom of her kitbag, but she doesn’t want to bother dragging it out for the sake of a quick check that nothing urgent is lurking in her email inbox. The only email of note is from her cousin Kate, who informs her that, all being equal, she will have a few days off around the time that Bernie should be in the Alsace region and asking if she’d like to meet up for couple of days in Strasbourg. With a grin, Bernie immediately responds in the affirmative and tells Kate to tell ‘the powers that be’ that she absolutely has to have those few days off. </p><p>She skim reads the rest of her emails, then logs out and checks her social media account. She tends not to use very much, but she does try to keep an eye on it as editors sometimes contact there rather than via email. She finds nothing of note there, either, so she puts the phone aside and grabs her Kindle to lose herself in the latest lesbian romance that she’s reading.</p><p>Initially Bernie’s not sure how long she’s been asleep when she’s woken by the sound of someone sobbing bitterly. It takes her a moment to realise where she is, and then to figure out that it’s Serena who’s weeping. She slips out of bed and up the stairs, wondering if the other woman is crying in her sleep, or if she’s woken up and is crying. Either way, it’s not in Bernie’s nature to ignore someone who is sobbing as brokenheartedly as Serena. She calls the brunette’s name in a low voice, but Serena doesn’t respond, so Bernie moves over to the bed, then kneels down beside it. Her eyes have adjusted to the dim light of the bedroom and she can see that Serena’s not awake, so she slides her left hand down the other woman’s forearm to clasp her hand, then reaches out with her right hand to stroke Serena’s cheek.</p><p>“Serena. Come on, love, wake up,” she calls quietly. “It’s Bernie.”</p><p>Serena’s eyes open slowly, and she stares at Bernie a little blearily before recognition sparks in her eyes. “What’s going on?” she asks, her voice thick with sleep.</p><p>“You were sobbing in your sleep, love,” Bernie says.</p><p>“And woke you up?” Bernie nods. “I’m sorry.”</p><p>“Shh, it’s okay,” Bernie tells her. </p><p>“You could’ve ignored me,” Serena says.</p><p>“Would you have ignored it if you’d been woken up by someone sobbing their heart out?” </p><p>“Well, no.”</p><p>“No more could I,” Bernie says. </p><p>“You should go back to bed. I’ll be okay.”</p><p>“Will you?” Bernie asks sceptically. She grabs the box of tissues on the nightstand and holds them out for Serena to blot at the tears still lingering on her cheeks. </p><p>“Probably not,” Serena says, somewhat reluctantly, Bernie judges.</p><p>“Budge up then, Campbell, and we’ll have a cuddle, see if that helps you go back to sleep.”</p><p>“I – you – what?” </p><p>Bernie rolls her eyes fondly. “You heard. C’mon, shift over and I’ll give you a cuddle, then we’ll see if you can manage to get a few more hours.”</p><p>“You don’t have to do that.”</p><p>“I know I don’t. But I want to. Unless you hate the idea?” she asks shrewdly.</p><p>“N-No, I don’t.” Serena gives her a tremulous smile, then asks, “Mind lying on the other side of the bed?”</p><p>“Of course not,” Bernie says. She leans in and drops a kiss on Serena’s forehead, then moves to the foot of the bed and crawls up it. “Do you want to be spooned or do you want to cuddle face to face?” </p><p>“Um, is face to face okay?”</p><p>“Of course it is, love. C’mere.” She holds out her arms and when Serena moves into her side, she wraps them around the other woman and holds her close. “Okay?” she asks softly.</p><p>“Y-Yes. Thank you for this.”</p><p>“Anytime.” She begins a gentle, soothing slide of her right hand up and down Serena’s spine, then asks, “This okay?”</p><p>“Yes, thank you.”</p><p>“Good.” Bernie begins humming a lullaby her mother used to hum to her when she was a small child and had the night terrors. Gradually she feels Serena’s body relax in her arms and she quietens her humming until she’s certain the other woman has gone back to sleep. She slows the motion of her hand, too, and instead wraps her other arm around the brunette, then she wills her own body to relax, to ignore the fact that her arms are full of a gorgeous woman to whom she is strongly attracted, so that she can go back to sleep, too.</p><p>When she next wakes, Serena’s easing herself out of Bernie’s arms and she mutters a confused “What?” before she registers where she is and what’s going on. Serena disappears into the ensuite and Bernie checks the time, noting that it’s nearly 7am, which is quite a late start to the day for her. Not that she minds as she’s fairly sure that Serena slept deeply once they were cuddled up on her bed. She props herself up in the bed, rubbing a hand over her face, then looks up and smiles when Serena comes back out of the bathroom.</p><p>“How are you feeling this morning?” she asks the brunette.</p><p>“Slightly embarrassed,” Serena says.</p><p>“Oh love,” she says. “It’s okay. I’m not in the least bothered that you woke me up or that we slept cuddled up together. There’s nothing to be ashamed of, I promise you.” Bernie holds out her arms and Serena gets back onto the bed.</p><p>“Thank you,” she murmurs, snuggling into Bernie.</p><p>“You’re welcome.” </p><p>“What time do you have to leave today?” </p><p>“There’s no rush, unless you’re eager to get shot of me?” she teases.</p><p>“No. Um. No, quite the opposite in fact.”</p><p>“Serena?”</p><p>The brunette tightens her grip on Bernie and says, almost too quietly to be heard, “I don’t want you to go.”</p><p>Bernie kisses the top of her head. “I’ll have to leave eventually,” she says quietly. “I have to finish this tour of the vineyards that offer public tours.” She thinks for a moment, then asks, “Why don’t you come with me?”</p><p>Serena twitches in her arms, as if startled, then pulls away and sits up, looking closely at Bernie. “You really mean that,” she says, her voice full of wonder.</p><p>“I really do,” Bernie says. “I think it would be fun, and who knows, maybe I’ll convert you to the pleasure of white wine once we reach the Alsace region?” She smirks, eyebrows raised, and Serena swats lightly at her arm. </p><p>“Never,” she says sternly. “Won’t I be in the way?” </p><p>Bernie frowns. “Why would you be? There’s space in my car for you. And in the boot, provided you’re not planning on bringing half of Harrods with you.” That elicits a snort from the brunette. “I’ve got a double room booked at every hotel, château, etc. that I’ll be staying a night in, so unless you’d prefer not to share with me again, we’ll be covered in that respect. The only thing you’ll have to pay for is whatever you eat and drink as I’ll be putting my own food and drink on my expenses card.”</p><p>“That sounds reasonable,” Serena says. “Can I think about it?”</p><p>“Of course.” Bernie’s about to say something else when first Serena’s, then Bernie’s stomach growls, and they laugh. “I’ll go and get dressed,” she says.</p><p>“Okay,” Serena agrees. “I’ll go and put the coffee machine on, then I’ll get dressed, too.”</p><p>“What a goddess,” Bernie says, smirking. This remark earns her another swat and she feigns outrage. “Oi, no assaulting the travel writer. Not without proper consent.”</p><p>Serena’s eyes go wide, and she splutters a bit, then says, “You’re incorrigible”, before abandoning the bed and making her way downstairs. </p><p>Bernie chuckles softly to herself, then makes her way downstairs to put on some clothes, before taking the bedding off the sofa bed and converting it back into a sofa. Then she moves into the kitchen and says hopefully, “Breakfast?”</p><p>“I was just about to ask what you wanted.” Serena flashes her a soft smile and Bernie has to swallow down the urge to press her against the counter and kiss her senseless.</p><p>“Um, don’t mind. Coffee and a croissant will do.”</p><p>Serena smile becomes sultrier, as if she’s read Bernie’s mind and knows what she was thinking about, and the blonde has to focus on not blushing scarlet. “Coffee and a croissant I can offer,” she says.</p><p>“Thanks.”</p><p>After breakfast they go for a walk and if Bernie feels a thrill when Serena slips her arm through Bernie’s, she says nothing, simply smiling fondly at the other woman. They have lunch and wash up, and Bernie’s just considering whether to get her laptop out and borrow a corner of the kitchen table to write on, when Serena says, “I’d like to come with you. If you’re absolutely sure I won’t get in the way.”</p><p>“I am absolutely positive about it,” Bernie tells her. “I’d love to have your company.”</p><p>“Then I’ll come.”</p><p>“Excellent.”</p><p>“When do you want to leave?”</p><p>“In the morning will be soon enough.”</p><p>“Okay. What should I bring to wear?”</p><p>“Nothing fancy,” Bernie says, then remembers her cousin Kate. “Maybe one nice outfit for dinner out in Strasbourg.” When Serena frowns at her, she elaborates, “I’ve tentatively arranged to meet up with my cousin Kate there, provided she can get away from work. Sometimes it gets a bit full on at very short notice and she’s unable to get away even when she’s booked the time off.”</p><p>“Oh well I don’t have to intrude on a family reunion,” Serena says quickly.</p><p>Bernie catches the brunette’s hand in her own and squeezes it gently. “You wouldn’t be intruding, love, I promise. Besides, you’ll enjoy meeting Kate. Despite the fact that we’re cousins, we look more like twin sisters. We used to cause a fair amount of mischief at family gatherings on the strength of that fact.”</p><p>“I see. And just how many identical-twin-cousins do you have hidden away?”</p><p>Bernie gives her a musing look. “Well, let’s see. Besides, Kate, there’s Jill, Amelia, Jenna, Zoe –” She gets no further because Serena’s jaw has dropped in shock and she cannot hold in her laughter, which results in Serena swatting at her, and Bernie, still laughing, pulls the brunette into her arms and hugs her. She’s unsurprised when Serena’s mouth finds her own and they end up kissing for many minutes. She is slightly startled, though, when Serena shifts in her arms and presses her thigh between Bernie’s legs. She moans softly into the kiss, unable to prevent herself from rocking against Serena’s thigh.</p><p>“Take me upstairs, Bernie, please.” Serena’s plea is soft, but her expression is determined when Bernie pulls back to look her in the eyes. “Please? I need to feel alive again and I want to feel that with you.”</p><p>“Of course,” Bernie says immediately. </p><p>Serena steps back, then looks a little uncertain, as if she hadn’t expected Bernie’s agreement. So she clasps the brunette’s hand and leads her across to the stairs, then up them and over to the bed. She undresses Serena reverently, with many kisses as each item of clothing is removed, then she lowers the other woman to the bed, before swiftly stripping out of her own clothes, then crawling up the bed beside Serena.</p><p>“Have you ever made love with a woman before?” Bernie asks softly.</p><p>Serena nods. “It’s been a few years, but yes, I had a short lived relationship with a woman I met at a conference. I daresay I remember the mechanics.”</p><p>Bernie chuckles. “I daresay you do. I’m fairly sure women’s bodies haven’t fundamentally changed in the interim.” She leans in and kisses Serena deeply, beginning to carefully map the other woman’s body with her hands, her mouth following the path of her hands. </p><p>When she reaches the apex of Serena’s thighs, the brunette tugs at her, so Bernie moves her body up to rest alongside Serena’s, then slips her hand between the other woman’s legs. She leans down to kiss her, then speaks quietly in her ear. </p><p>“Elinor’s death doesn’t define you, Serena, any more than her birth did. You were more than a mother after she was born, and you will be and are more than a mother who’d lost her daughter now she’s passed. You are a brave, gorgeous, capable, talented woman and it’s my pleasure to get to know you.” </p><p>She teases Serena’s thighs further apart, then eases her fingers inside her, capturing the gasp of shock that the brunette utters with her own mouth, before kissing her deeply again.</p><p>Afterwards, Serena lies in her arms, crying softly, and Bernie does her best to soothe her, feeling pleased when she eventually dozes off. </p><p>She hopes that her words to Serena will help her to accept that she is more than just the loss of her daughter, as devastating as that loss is. Bernie doesn’t suppose that having sex with her will cure her grief, but she does hope that a new relationship will help her to come to terms with losing Elinor in a healthier fashion than drinking herself into an early grave. (The irony of the fact that she is about to take Serena on a tour of several vineyards isn’t lost on Bernie, but she hopes the nature of the tours will help the brunette to regulate her drinking better.)</p><p>Bernie didn’t come to France looking for a relationship. She never has looked for one, in fact, but she can’t help feeling that meeting Serena might be the very best thing that’s ever happened to her.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Chapter title from <i>The Rubaiyat of Omar Khayyam</i>.</p><p>Kudos to anyone who spots the Jemma Redgrave 'Easter Egg'!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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